


Void Avoider

by moriahbard



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Light Angst, Memory Loss, Pacifist Frisk (Undertale), Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, empty threats, moriahbard indulges her inner dramatic poet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 09:22:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20598440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moriahbard/pseuds/moriahbard
Summary: Post-Pacifist Frisk visits Gaster three times and attempts to pull him from the void. Gaster debates whether to rage against the dying of the night. His thoughts and memories are a maelstrom of overlapping timelines and emotions, but Frisk tries to pierce through the confusion with their characteristic kindness.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This version of Frisk is fluent in sign language and tends to sign while they speak, a handy (heh) commonality to have with someone like Gaster, who speaks in signs, symbols, and gestures.

Gaster surfaced unexpectedly from the darkness, disoriented and reeling, drawn out by precise and inquisitive hands.

Gaster couldn’t have been said to be minding his own business when it happened. He never minded his own business. His consciousness was scattered throughout the Underground, seeping into reality’s imperceptible seams.

It could be said, however, that Gaster was _surprised _when it happened. Surprised for the first time in a long, long while.

Someone was meddling at the Fundamental level, plumbing the depths of reality. He had felt someone reach into the code. The sensation was like a stranger rifling through your most personal possessions while simultaneously passing their hand through your ribs to coldly take hold of your soul.

It wasn’t painful, exactly, but it was deeply unpleasant. It wrenched the scattered echoes of his being into something resembling a physical form—still warped, but now fixed in one place.

He looked at his hands. They were alien to him. Had he grown accustomed to nonexistence, strewn everywhere and nowhere? Or had his body changed? Had he always had holes in his palms? He couldn’t remember.

The rest of him was black. He thought he remembered wearing black before. But now it seemed more void than cloth, a darkness shifting dissonantly over and inside and through him. In one moment, it oozed, tarlike; in the next, it flickered, pixelated. He was wary of touching it, even though it was part of him and had been for some time. Seeing it this way was…unsettling. He held his hands awkwardly in front of him to avoid it. 

Gaster looked around the room. This room wasn’t supposed to exist. He could feel the darkness pressing on the walls from outside. The room was small, empty, unremarkable, but he continued looking around it. How strange, to view one place from one perspective again! There was a hallway at the end of the room, still all grey. The only disruption in the blank grey walls was a closed door. He wondered what it would feel like to touch his hands to the door, or the walls, or the floor—to experience the texture of each material, to make contact with solid matter—but phasing through these surfaces was still a worrying possibility. He felt fragile, as though this form could fade or melt or collapse into dust at any moment. It almost made him prefer nonexistence.

Some moments later, there was a knock at the door. Gaster dismissed a fleeting compulsion to answer, “Who’s there?” He had never cared for knock-knock jokes.

Besides, he already knew who was there. It must be the person who had plunged their hands into the code. Someone cunning and dauntless, someone—

The door opened. A small, dark-haired figure entered and started down the hallway. A human child.

Gaster bristled. He had not been expecting a child, but at the same time, he had expected no one else. Of course a human with the ability to Save and Reset would have the potential to find their way here. Of course one of the fallen children would be curious enough to go through the mysterious door.

Which human was this? Gaster flicked through memories of six, seven, eight children…seven different colored souls…dozens of possible timelines each…hundreds of variations…

Which one was this?

The red soul. Ah, but there had been two of those, hadn’t there? Red souls branched into more timelines than any of the others, so narrowing it down would be—

Before he could work it out, the child walked toward him. They wanted to talk to him, he realized with a bizarre mixture of glee and dismay. It had been so long since he had talked to anyone…but did he want anyone to talk to him like this? To see him like this?

No. Better to not exist…to be forgotten…

He smiled, once, and vanished.

It was disgusting how relieved he was to return to the void. Like racing into the arms of one’s jailer. It was just so easy now. So much easier than confronting the fallen child and their tiny, reaching hands and their dark, inquisitive eyes.

But the human was persistent. Determined. Too soon, they were fiddling with the code again, pulling him back into the nonexistent room again, and opening the door again.

This time, the child walked toward Gaster but stopped several feet short of him. They studied each other. This was the second of the red souls, Gaster realized, the one that varied the most depending on the timeline. Which version of them was this?

Gaster was conscious of the human considering their options—would they need to Fight or Act? Would they produce an Item? Would they show Mercy?

The idea of being Spared by this child seemed absurd, at first. They were so much smaller than him. But he had seen countless children in countless timelines cut down boss monsters without blinking. The red souls in particular had high potential Levels of Violence. He wondered if he could still use the Blasters if necessary…

Finally, the human raised one of their hands. They waved.

“Hello,” they said. They signed as they spoke. “I’m Frisk.”

Frisk used different hand signs than Gaster, but Gaster could tell they were spelling out their name.

Gaster spoke for the first time in an age. “Hello, Frisk. You should not be here.”

His voice reverberated oddly, like a mechanical echo coming from deep underwater. His hands flashed signs as he spoke, not smooth like Frisk’s signing, but halting, flickering. Frisk stared at him for a long moment and he wondered if the child had understood a single word of either his voice or his hand signs.

“I know,” Frisk said at last, continuing to use their signs. “Sorry to bother you. But I needed to see you.”

“Why?”

There was another delay, shorter this time. Frisk seemed to be processing or translating Gaster’s speech, but they were getting better at it.

“I want to know if you can help my friends,” they replied.

“How?”

“One of my friends is trapped. He has Determination, but he’s missing his soul. He—”

“You mean the flower,” Gaster interrupted. His voice darkened with distaste. “That creature has no respect for the world or anyone in it. He is responsible for countless misfortunes. He toys with the system. He has attempted to exploit my nonexistence more than once, convinced that he can use glitches to cheat. He interfered with your file and killed you countless times. Even so, you Spared him. Was that not sufficient?”

Despite having to comprehend so many fractured words, Frisk responded quickly. “No. I have to save him. He isn’t himself, but he can be good if he becomes Asriel again.”

Gaster shook his head. “Asriel is gone.”

“But—”

“You can’t fix everything, no matter how Determined you are, even when you try to alter reality itself. I know this from experience.”

Frisk’s eyes filled with tears. Something inside Gaster’s chest tightened, aching. _No, no. _Feelings of guilt, memories of loss—these were impossible to bear. He had forgotten how emotions could manifest physically, amplifying his pain. It hurt so badly. It hurt _everywhere_.

He had to end this conversation immediately, to slink back into the mercifully unfeeling void. But the human would try to drag him back out again, wouldn’t they?

Then…he would have to drive the child away.

“And who is your other friend?” Gaster sneered. “Your smiling doppelganger, who waits in the shadows to possess you? You want to Save them, too, I suppose?”

Had being callous always been this easy? Or had the darkness made it so?

Frisk swallowed. “No, he’s a skeleton. He does smile a lot. He used to know you, or at least he’s pretty sure he did. I think he misses you.”

_Sans_. The pain in Gaster’s chest intensified. Of course Sans had become involved, guiding or threatening the fallen child as each timeline required. That was no surprise. But it seemed that Sans had also refused to forget, and that was…that was…

Frisk had been talking again, signing away, but Gaster hadn’t taken in a word.

“Wh—what?” he asked. 

“The time machine. Do you know how to fix it?”

“Time machine? Oh…_that_ thing. I’m afraid it’s broken beyond repair.”

His chest grew heavier, the tightness becoming a vice on his soul. Too many broken inventions, broken relationships, broken monsters, broken promises. Remembering hurt too much. _Hurry, hurry, end this. End this NOW. Say something cruel. That always makes them leave. Doesn’t it?_

“Yes, broken beyond repair,” Gaster repeated. “Like Asriel. Like me. Like you, if you do not leave soon.”

Frisk planted their tiny feet. “I know you can help.”

“You _know_? You know only rumors of what I once was. You know only vaguely what I used to be, and you know nothing of what I am now.”

Gaster loomed, allowing the blackness to billow and ooze and flicker around him. 

“Tell me, Frisk. What was I? Lonely and misunderstood? A tragic recluse, toiling in solitude, easily forgotten like a discarded toy? Am I what remains of that twisted wretch? Have you come to pity him?” He laughed.

But Frisk stood firm. Gaster tried again, allowing his words to crackle with static, sibilant but eerily calm, like the voice on a numbers station with poor reception.

“Am I an echo, empty of soul or substance? Perhaps I am cobbling this conversation together from other words spoken by dead monsters, repeating patchwork fragments into the darkness. Perhaps the person I was ceased to exist long ago and you are already too late.” 

But Frisk was Determined. They would not move.

_Fine_.

Gaster began to move forward, slowly closing the distance between them.

“What type of scientist was I? An idealist, dreaming too big and flying too close to the sun?” He chuckled. “No, I don’t think so. I haven’t seen the sun for a long, long time. Was I a theorist, scrawling formulae and meddling in spacetime?” A handful of his bullets flickered into being, symbols dancing wildly around his head. “A mad scientist, perhaps, rending reality, contorting time?”

The bullets twitched toward Frisk. Their eyes followed the movement, but they did not flinch.

Gaster continued his advance. He was now only a foot away from Frisk.

“Ah, but I could have been a physician. Monster bodies are bound by magic, but they are bodies still. Someone has to tend them…or end them.”

Frisk seized on the subject of bodies. They thrust out one little hand, reaching for Gaster’s. He evaded, recoiling inwardly, resolving to be much more terrifying.

“Human bodies, however, are woven of complex systems of nerves, cells, blood, and bone. How very _interesting_.” He leaned within inches of Frisk’s face. “I might have wanted to see the inner workings up _close_. I might have dissected the other human children, cutting through the layers of flesh and muscle to the tiny skeletons within. Perhaps autopsies were a _hobby_ of mine.”

Finally, Frisk shrank back. They took two steps backward toward the door. Gaster could sense the red soul growing legs to flee.

But it refused.

Frisk actually attempted a _smile_. “I d-dissected an eyeball for school one time. It was gross, but kind of interesting.” 

“I could slice you apart right now, eyeballs first.”

“But you won’t. You haven’t even tried attacking me yet.”

_Stop_, Gaster thought. _Just give up._

“Giving you the opportunity to run now does not mean I will Spare you when the battle begins. I will end you.”

_Just leave. Leave me. Forget me. Don’t come back._

Frisk shrugged. “I’ve faced lots of monsters who could tear me apart. But it turns out most of them didn’t want to.”

“You have no idea what I want,” Gaster blustered. “I’m unstable. What I want could change in an instant—I could snap at any time—”

“I’m very good at dodging.”

_Just like Sans. _

The memory struck like a physical blow. Gaster clutched at his chest, receiving a handful of pitch.

“Why?” he gasped. “Why won’t you just _leave_?”

“I know what it’s like when nobody comes.” Frisk reached out again and took Gaster’s hand, the one dripping with blackness. They didn’t flinch. Their tiny human hand was so warm.

Gaster sank to what were once his knees. The floor was hard and cold under him. The child’s hand was warm and gentle in his.

He didn’t deserve this. He couldn’t always remember what his life had been like, but he knew he didn’t deserve this. He wasn’t sure which of the supposed selves he’d described to Frisk had been the real one, but he knew none of them were worthy of this kindness.

“I could have been a murderer,” he said brokenly.

“So could I.”

Gaster saw it. Among the fragmented timelines, there were some paved with dust and blood. Papyrus killed while offering friendship. Asgore slain in front of the barrier. Sans making a final stand, wielding the Gaster Blasters, exhausted, defying the very structure of battle. But, ultimately, falling. Falling to a murderous child with the same face as the one holding Gaster’s hand now.

The same face, but such different eyes. The same child, but such different choices.

“Does it hurt?” asked Frisk.

“What?”

Frisk indicated the hole in Gaster’s palm.

“Oh. No. Not….not there.” 

Frisk nodded and squeezed his hand. Warmth spread from Gaster’s fingertips to the top of his skull.

This is what bodies were for, he remembered: powerful, wordless connection. He still felt a tightness in his chest, but it had poignancy now. He wasn’t as entirely lost as he had supposed.

They remained hand-in-hand for several minutes, a forgotten monster and a quiet human child. Gaster knew peace for the first time in…well, perhaps it was simply the first time. But it was not sustainable. The world would begin to collapse if they kept this nonexistent room open for too long.

“This is no place for a child,” said Gaster finally.

“It isn’t dangerous,” Frisk replied. “You aren’t dangerous.”

“Do you even remember why you’re here?”

Frisk frowned. The strain on reality was beginning to affect them. Memories fracturing, faltering.

“I was…I wanted to help someone.”

“You should go.”

Frisk tightened their grip on Gaster’s hand.

“No, you—you were supposed to—do something.”

“You need to leave.”

Shadows began to form in the corners of the room. Frisk clung to Gaster with both hands, brow furrowing as they tried to remember.

“I need to help people. I’m supposed to Save everyone! I’m worthless if I can’t—I can’t—I—” Frisk began to cry.

Gaster tried to pull his hand away, but Frisk clung tighter. They couldn’t remember why they had come, but they thought he was important. The darkness was spreading now, creeping out of the corners and across the walls and ceiling—it would envelop the room in minutes, but Frisk refused to leave. The human’s Determination would doom them.

“You need to leave NOW,” Gaster insisted. He rose and began to push Frisk toward the door.

Frisk dug in their heels. They were very strong, actually. The darkness had overtaken the ceiling and the walls, now progressing toward them across the floor.

For a moment, Gaster wondered what would happen if he allowed Frisk to stay. Would they be consumed by the void as well? Would they be erased and forgotten, too? Or would they merely return to their last Save point? An interesting experiment…but too risky.

The darkness had surrounded the pair, closing tighter and tighter, but the door remained. It would not remain long. He had to Act now.

Gaster turned Frisk’s soul green, disengaged his hands, and summoned a Blaster skull to clear a pathway to the door.

Frisk stared at him, unable to move. Confusion and sadness were frozen on their face.

“Thank you for visiting me,” Gaster smiled. “Goodbye.”

He fired the Blaster, turned Frisk’s soul blue, and shoved them down the hallway as hard as he could. Frisk slid to safety in the wake of the blast. They came to a stop outside the open door. Weighed down by the blue magic, they struggled to reach back toward the nonexistent room.

“G—”

Gaster waved, allowing the darkness to close the door. Released from the magic, Frisk scrambled back to the wall, but the door was gone…along with the room and its sole occupant.


	2. Resurfacing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk comes back for Gaster, determined to find a way to bring him to the Surface. They return to the Underground with a machine, a flowerpot, and a skeleton assistant.

Gaster had been hoping to see Frisk again. Since their previous meeting, he had been attempting to focus his scattered consciousness on this Frisk’s timeline to get to know them better. It never occurred to him that this might be intrusive.

This Frisk was peaceful, having never taken a single enemy’s life. This Frisk was also friendly, quickly endearing themselves to several monsters who now formed their new family. This Frisk had stopped using Reset after freeing monsters from the Underground. They lived on the surface now—not very far away, but on the indistinct outskirts of Gaster’s Underground-bound perception. It was a marvel that they returned to the Underground at all, much less to see Gaster.

When this Frisk reached into the code again, Gaster was ready. He reinforced the walls to hold the darkness at bay. He tried to gather his warped physical form into a more presentable shape. He liked to think he kept his body more solid this time, but it did continue to flicker and ooze where it met the floor.

The door opened partway. Frisk poked their head in and smiled.

“Ah, Frisk!” Gaster moved down the hallway to meet them, hands flashing signs excitedly. “I’ve done some calculations, and I believe we can get a solid thirty minutes of use out of this room if we—”

The door swung the rest of the way open, banging into the wall. Someone stood behind Frisk in the doorway. Frisk cheerfully entered and trotted down the hallway, swinging an overstuffed backpack from their shoulders. Their companion remained silhouetted in the doorframe, hands in his pockets.

“Hey,” said Sans.

“Oh.” Gaster’s hands formed the sign haltingly: “Hello.”

This was…unexpected.

Frisk unzipped their backpack and began unloading it while the other two looked at one another.

“I brought you some things,” Frisk told Gaster. “I’m not sure how long they’ll exist, but I have extras, so it’s okay if they get vanished.”

“Ah—thank you,” Gaster said. He tore his gaze from Sans and looked at Frisk’s pile of gifts. There was a coffee mug, a notebook and mechanical pencil, a magnifying glass, a newspaper turned to the puzzle section, a golden flower, a Crab Apple, Sea Tea, and a Nice Cream wrapper. Frisk opened another pocket and busied themself with a heavily wrapped package.

Gaster picked up the newspaper. It was a human paper, but it still had a page containing a crossword, jumble, and Sudoku.

“I think I used to like the number puzzles best,” he muttered. “I was always better with numbers.”

“That sounds about right,” said Sans from the doorway.

Gaster looked up at him but said nothing.

Sans looked away. “So, uh…I feel like I should punch you in the face and then hug you. That sound about right?”

“Yes. Probably. Or the reverse.”

“Heh.”

Sans walked a few steps into the hallway, closing the door behind him. He started to shove his hands back into his pockets, but he paused. Slowly, he formed the signs for “Hello again” and added “you bastard,” which could be taken either as an insult or as a bit of affectionate banter. Gaster wasn’t sure which Sans had intended.

Sans wasn’t sure, either. “How exactly do I know you?” he asked bluntly.

Gaster hesitated. “That…depends on the timeline. But I believe we were close. And usually…I hurt you. Often badly. Sometimes on purpose.”

“Yeah, I—kinda figured that part out. But which timeline is _this_?”

Gaster felt the edges of his body flicker. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t _know_?” Sans repeated, his voice hardening. “Aren’t you supposed to be all-seeing now or something?”

“All-seeing, yes, all timelines, all at the same time and no time and every time.”

“Well, you’re in _this_ timeline with a body now. Don’t you at least have a _hypothesis_, Doc?”

“Oh, I have _many_,” Gaster snapped. “How about I list them all and you can choose the one you like best? Then I can transform into the version of myself that suits you.” His body sputtered and he jabbed a black-dripping finger at Sans. “As though there aren’t different versions of _you_ across the timelines, too.”

Sans shifted uncomfortably, but he didn’t back down. “Yeah, well, there are different versions of everybody. But we make _choices_ about how to be in each timeline, right?”

“Right,” said Frisk from the floor.

Gaster and Sans both stared at Frisk. They had almost forgotten the child was there. Frisk had unwrapped a large flowerpot and was busily decorating it with a permanent marker. They didn’t bother glancing up from their work.

Sans scratched the back of his skull. “Uh—sorry, Frisk. We—well, _I_ didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” Frisk said, drawing a heart shape. “I’ve been around for lots of awkward conversations before.”

“Er, why don’t the two of you make yourselves comfortable?” Gaster asked politely. He ushered his guests down the rest of the hallway into the empty room beyond. Frisk got up and followed him, carrying the flowerpot under their arm. Sans used magic to float the rest of Frisk’s items after them. He deposited the lot in the middle of the floor. The small pile of colorful gifts made the blank grey room seem even emptier and lonelier than before.

Frisk selected a spot in the center of the room and sat down again, holding the flowerpot on their lap and drawing on the rim.

“Ah, what are you working on there?” asked Gaster.

Frisk held up the flowerpot. “I’m gonna bring this to Flowey and see if he wants to come to the surface with me.”

Gaster had been avoiding looking at Sans, but now he couldn’t help shooting Sans a look. Sans had his hands back in his pockets, shoulders relaxed, but he returned Gaster’s look of concern.

“Frisk,” said Gaster. “That is….extremely inadvisable. ‘Flowey’ doesn’t follow the rules of reality.”

“Like you?” Frisk asked, glancing up from what appeared to be a drawing of a fire-breathing dragon.

“More dangerous than me,” Gaster replied. “And that is very dangerous indeed.”

Frisk returned to their drawing. “I’ve fought him before. I won.”

Sans exhaled nervously. “Look, kid, the doc’s right. That flower—Flowey—is bad news.”

Frisk’s pen slowed, but they kept drawing without looking at Sans. “I’ve fought more challenging monsters before. I still won.”

Gaster realized that Frisk’s picture wasn’t a fire-breathing dragon after all. He also realized that this Sans might not remember all the details of Frisk’s previous timelines.

“What is your plan, then?” he asked.

“Well, first, I’m going to give Flowey a nice home. Just having a new environment will be good for him, I think. But I won’t tell Toriel who he is until we’ve found a way to fix him.”

“And how are you going to do that?”

“I’m going to work with Alphys and Sans. They know a lot about monster souls and science and Determination.”

“Alphys and Sans are both brilliant,” conceded Gaster, “but this still seems like an unnecessary risk. Everyone has left the Underground, but the flower is rooted here. He can’t reach anyone to hurt them anymore.”

“You’re still down here,” said Frisk, glancing up at Gaster.

“He hasn’t pestered me of late,” Gaster replied evenly. But Frisk stared at him as though they could see the past battles scorched across his face.

“He’s been thinking about the last time I talked to him,” Frisk said. “I think he’s ready to change.”

Sans placed a hand on Frisk’s shoulder. “You should have another plan, though. In case he’s not.”

“I do.” Frisk held up the flowerpot. “Alphys helped make this. It has concentrated green magic to keep him inside. And some extra stuff from me.”

A piece of code gleamed beneath the fresh ink on the side of the flowerpot. It was something powerful. Gaster had to force himself to stifle his curiosity, to still his grasping hands that itched to investigate. He took the newspaper in both hands now and tried to focus on refolding it.

Frisk set the flowerpot on the floor. “And if we can’t get his soul back, he can have my soul when I die.”

“Frisk!” cried Gaster and Sans together.

“He used to be a boss monster, so I don’t think it will seem like that long to wait, for him,” said Frisk calmly. “Even if I live to be a hundred.”

Sans reached out and squeezed Frisk’s shoulder. “Let’s—let’s not worry about that yet. First, we have to transplant this guy and get him upstairs.”

“You don’t _have_ to do anything,” snapped Gaster. “This plan is reckless. No amount of human Determination or mysterious coding or Alphys’ genius can guarantee success. There are too many unknown variables where Flowey is concerned.”

Sans’s expression darkened. “Maybe. But this is Frisk’s decision. All we can do at this point is support them. You can’t control anyone else’s choices...remember?”

“I can hardly control anybody now,” Gaster said. “I am merely _advising_—”

“Or you’re panicking. You don’t want to be the only one still stuck down here.” Sans’s eyes went black. “Even if you might deserve it.”

“Ah, yes. Time for Sans to pass judgment yet again. The soulless abomination that murdered its way through multiple timelines out of boredom gets to be saved. Because it was a dewy-eyed child once. But the scientist who tried his best, whose work goes unrecognized and unremembered, who was erased from existence, he must not be saved.”

“‘_Tried his best?’” _erupted Sans. “Is that what you call--”

“—what I did in every timeline. Yes, in some, my best was cruel. But not all. Should this really condemn me to an eternity of—of loneliness?” Gaster’s voice wavered beyond its usual distortion. The newspaper in his hands had been wrung into a crumpled mess. “I could see everyone before they left the Underground. I could do nothing, which was torture, but I could at least observe. Now, I lack even that small comfort. Now, I have only vast, empty caverns and Echo Flowers.” He glanced down at the ruined newspaper and laughed brokenly. “And _puzzles_.” He let the paper fall to the ground.

“I retreat to the past and to other timelines when I can,” Gaster continued. “I actually prefer reliving my own erasure to this…isolation. I prefer the gouges of Flowey’s thorns. I prefer melting into the Core.” He shuddered, sending waves of flickering along the edges of his body. “I thought it was maddening, seeing while being unseen. I thought perhaps I had already gone mad. But I have enough mind, enough self left to still feel abandoned.”

Gaster knelt to look pleadingly at Frisk. “If I could carve out pieces of myself to send with you, like the snowman did, I would. But I’ve faded into the fabric of the Underground now. There is nothing solid left to carry, not even in a little flowerpot.”

Frisk reached out and took both of Gaster’s hands. They held him tightly and smiled.

“That’s why I have more than one plan. And more than one gift from Alphys.” Frisk turned to Sans. “Could you open the last pocket in my backpack, please?”

Sans had been standing stiffly behind Frisk, his expression unreadable. He bent and reached into the backpack. A surprised breath hissed through his teeth as he pulled out an unfamiliar cube made out of a familiar metal.

“Is--is this constructed from the parts I gave you?”

Frisk nodded. “We couldn’t decide on a new name for it, though,” they said apologetically. As though that were a serious concern when such a monumental possibility stretched before them. Gaster’s hands began to shake within Frisk’s grip. Frisk squeezed his hands once, then released him.

“We thought maybe ‘Void Avoider’ or ‘De-Core-o-nation Machine.’ Or ‘Core-no-More.’ Or ‘Days-X-Machina,’” said Frisk.

“Those names are all terrible,” Sans said. “I love them.”

“Will it—will it really work?” Gaster struggled to sign coherently with shaking hands.

“It should,” answered Frisk. “You’ll definitely be able to leave when it’s done. Only—I won’t be able to determine which ‘you’ it will be.”

Gaster hesitated. “It could be any version of W.D. Gaster from any timeline, at random?”

“No. You’ll get to choose who to be. It’s just that I can’t predict it or control it.”

Now Sans seemed hesitant. “I, uh, know of at least three incarnations of you I’d rather not meet again.”

“Should one of them emerge, you have my permission to eliminate him,” muttered Gaster, staring at the cube.

“You probably need time to remember. And decide.” Frisk took the machine from Sans and placed it on the floor. “You can think about it while we go get Flowey.”

Frisk grabbed the flowerpot and began walking out of the room. Sans followed.

“Think _hard_, Doc,” he said over his shoulder.

Gaster didn’t respond. He barely even heard the door shut behind them. Still half-collapsed, he bent to look at the device. He recognized many of the components, and others seemed to have the signature Alphys innovation—that of Alphys at her best, when she worked with passion and delight, unencumbered by self-doubt or self-loathing. Alphys seemed to have improved since her move to the surface.

Would Gaster improve by moving to the surface? Or would he remain broken, but now broken in the daylight?

He rested his hands on the cube and tried to remember a timeline in which he had been filled with passion and delight, when he had been kind. The memories roiled and overlapped. It was like trying to isolate one specific water droplet in a hurricane.

He had been an optimist, once. He had been a father, twice. He had been a fighter many times. He had been a dreamer, a theorist, a deadbeat, an engineer, a sadist, a madman, a physician, a workaholic, an inventor, an abuser, a victim, a child, a god. Separating his selves was impossible now.

His hands clenched against the metal of the machine. Salvation was within reach. He could see it. He was looking at it. But he wouldn’t be able to get it to work.

Gaster felt something wet on his face and realized he was crying.

The door opened and closed. Gaster drew an arm across his face and looked up to see Frisk marching triumphantly into the room with their flowerpot, trailing dirt across the grey floor. Sans shuffled though the trail, his eyes never leaving the flowerpot’s occupant. One eyesocket glowed bright blue.

This was such a terrible idea.

Flowey grinned innocently. “Hey there, Slick. Long time no see.”

Gaster found his voice and lifted his hands to sign. “Don’t be glib. You should be grateful you aren’t being left behind.”

“Oh, but I am grateful, Melt Man. This is me on my best behavior.” Flowey’s eyes widened into exaggerated sparkles.

Gaster shot Frisk a skeptical look. “How do you intend to keep him on his ‘best behavior?’”

“Well, I already explained the flowerpot, plus he doesn’t have access to any Saves or souls. And he really doesn’t want us to send him back down here. He’d much rather see something new. He knows I’m not very much fun to try fighting, anyway.”

Even though Frisk’s voice was kind and cheerful, Gaster experienced a sudden chill. He remembered a timeline in which a pleading Flowey was cut down with a merciless human smile. He glanced back at Flowey, understanding the deeper, unspoken motivation for staying in line.

“I see.”

Flowey hated the pity in Gaster’s expression. He said, “So what’s _your_ best behavior, Doctor No-Face? Not performing painful experiments on innocent subjects?”

“Yes, I thought I’d start with that,” replied Gaster dryly.

Sans chanced a look at Gaster. “So you made a decision, then?”

Gaster looked at Frisk and Flowey. Suddenly, it was obvious.

“Yes. I am ready.”

“Okay!” Frisk set the flowerpot next to Gaster. “You two wait here. Sans and I have to get the machine ready.”

Sans cleared the center of the room with magic and moved the device to the empty space. He and Frisk bent over the cube and began calibrating. Sans positioned himself so that he could still see Flowey from where he was working.

Flowey leaned toward Gaster and whispered, “You really think anyone besides these two losers is going to be glad to see you?”

Gaster said nothing. He stood up and smoothed himself out.

Flowey muttered, “There’s no place for you in their new little family. Everyone adjusted so easily to life without you. You were so easy to forget. Nobody needs you now.”

Gaster waited.

Flowey made a monstrous face. “At least people miss Asriel, you know? Nobody misses Gaster. Even Smiley only cares about one or two versions of you. And those versions are dead, aren’t they?”

Gaster looked down at Flowey. “You will be all right, little one. I’m nervous, too.”

“Wh-what?” Flowey blustered. “I don’t—you—I’m not nervous! That’s not why I was saying that stuff, Vantablack. Maybe you like playing psychoanalyst because it makes _you_ feel better, huh, Dr. Rorschach? Huh, Tar Pits? Huh, Missing Numbskull?”

Gaster scooped Frisk’s gifts off of the floor and returned them to the backpack for safekeeping.

Suddenly, Sans was standing right next to the flowerpot, his eyesocket aglow. “Doctor No-Face was the best one. Quit while you’re ahead, _bud_.”

Flowey retreated into a wordless sulk. Frisk announced that the machine was ready; they darted over, took Gaster by the hand, and led him over to the cube. They explained that he would be compressed down to just the size of his soul, which would be drawn into the cube in the form of light. Then, Frisk would put the cube into the backpack and carry him out of the Underground.

“So you’ll turn him into a pocket monster, basically,” Flowey said.

“And we’ll be carrying you in your special Floweypot,” added Sans. “Got it?”

“I guess,” said Flowey.

“I understand,” said Gaster. He looked around the grey room one last time. If this didn’t work, he might truly and completely cease to exist, not even as an echo in the code. He looked at Frisk and nodded. “Let’s try it. Please.”

Frisk smiled and pressed a button. Everything flashed white.

Gaster experienced such a strong sensation of uprooting that he wondered for a moment if he was experiencing Flowey’s recent memories. But no, this was him—the laboratory, the Core, the journals, the experiments—those memories were his own. He could feel the timelines branching infinitely around him. He followed the splits going backward, navigating until he found the main arteries, the trunk of the tree, the spring at the beginning of the river. He found what he needed and clung to it. This was who he was. This was who he would be. He felt his chest expand with a fullness that spread through the rest of his body.

Everything flashed white again. Gaster blinked at the sun for the first time in thousands of years. It was warm.

He looked down at his hands. They still had holes, but they were solid with perfectly articulated fingers—no static, no melting. His arms were covered in actual black cloth, an entirely separate material than that which made up his body. The fabric was starched—a button-down shirt. He stood on two legs, clad in black trousers, partially obscured by—but definitely separate from—a long, black coat. In the bright sunlight, he could tell that the shirt, trousers, and coat were all different shades of black. The coat was the most faded. It had two large, empty, frayed pockets. Gaster ran his hands along the edges of the pockets and stared up at the sky.

There was the sun, a blinding star blazing amongst wisps of white cloud in a deep blue sky. It was autumn, he realized; that was when the sky was most beautiful. Sweeping his gaze lower, Gaster noticed golden hilltops and the roofs of buildings. He saw birds flapping overhead in lopsided v’s. He saw trees that were turning crimson and orange. He saw green grass and brown earth. He saw Frisk beaming at him, standing next to Sans, who was holding Flowey in one hand. The human child started to walk toward him, but Sans put out an arm, stopping them in their tracks.

His eye glowed like the blue at the center of a flame.

“Hang on, Frisk. None of my memories have come back intact,” he said. His tone was dangerously even. “I have no idea who this guy is.”

“That’s actually—” Gaster froze mid-sentence. His voice no longer echoed or crackled. His hands moved smoothly as he signed. He stared down at them for a moment before he could continue. “That’s—that’s actually by design. I’m—new.” Gaster smiled nervously. “I’m not any one of the Gasters you knew before. I’m, ah, several of them.”

“Haha! You cheated!” Flowey crowed. “Nice!”

“I couldn’t imagine a version of myself that was worthy of this world,” said Gaster. “So I took the best parts of the best Gasters and combined them. I’m not perfect, but—I’m better, I think. Ready to start over.”

Sans’s arm fell. Frisk rushed over and shook Gaster’s hand enthusiastically.

“Well, then, nice to meet you…again?” Frisk smiled.

Flowey rolled his eyes.

Sans looked pained as the glow faded from his eye. “Doc,” he said quietly, “you didn’t have to do that. There were versions of you that were worth saving. There were versions of you that I—”

“I know. But my individual lives were beyond saving. It was like…” He tried to remember the right analogy. “It was like trying to find a specific snowflake in a pile of snow. Impossible.”

“But you DID manage to avoid all of the yellow snow,” said Flowey. “So hey! That’s a win, right, Wingdingus?”

Sans shook his head. “But nobody will remember you. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I wanted to be real. I wanted to stop being alone. These aims I have accomplished.” Gaster attempted another faltering smile and looked at Frisk. “Perhaps, even if nobody remembers me, I will seem familiar.”

Flowey made a rude noise. “Lame. Seems like you’re having your cake and eating it, too. You’re a deluxe customized edition of your best self AND you get all the memories and knowledge of all the Master Disasters from all the timelines. Who cares if nobody remembers you?”

“Unfortunately, I have a rather—fractured—memory now. I no longer have a true history. I just have little pieces. I hope they will be enough.”

Sans shrugged. “I guess I’ve gotten by on that much before.” He seemed somehow disappointed and relieved at the same time. “Well. Nice to meet you again.”

“Nice to meet you all.”

And then Frisk was leading them all down the mountain, through the crimson and orange trees. This wasn’t a perfect ending, perhaps, but it was the best one they could manage, and better than Gaster had ever dreamed of deserving. Flowey still lacked a soul, and Gaster lacked most of his memories, but they had friends, and Frisk had proven that was what mattered most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not the first fan to conceive of the idea of the Floweypot. I absorbed the concept somehow through the fandom hivemind.
> 
> I had entirely too much fun coming up with nicknames for Flowey to call Gaster. Let me know if you had any favorites!


End file.
